


No one touches my Serpent

by Staubengel



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: !!!!, Canon Divergence, NO ONE HURTS AZIRAPHALE'S BOYFRIEND
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-18
Updated: 2018-04-18
Packaged: 2019-04-24 17:31:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14360223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Staubengel/pseuds/Staubengel
Summary: Aziraphale manages to avoid stepping into the circle and things go just a little bit differently.





	No one touches my Serpent

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Wanderer_im_Sternenmeer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wanderer_im_Sternenmeer/gifts).



> And another giveaway oneshot, this time for the lovely wanderer_im_sternenmeer, aka sparklinggreenwings, who requested the hubbies! It turned out a bit dramatic, I hope that you enjoy it anyway!  
> Thanks again to amazing Riah for beta-reading!  
> Two little parts of the fic are directly quoted from the book, so if you find they sound very familiar to you, you're most probably right :D

"Yes, yes, but please keep out of –"

Aziraphale ran toward Shadwell, waving his hands urgently.

"– returning NAE MORE!" Shadwell finished. He pointed a vengeful, black-nailed finger.

Aziraphale barely avoided the circle himself with a very bold manoeuvre and pushed Shadwell out of the way. The old man hissed hatefully and tried to shove his candle into Aziraphale's face, but the angel snapped his fingers and Shadwell was gone.1

“Very sorry I had to do this,” Aziraphale wheezed at the empty air. “But it was better for you, and also for the entire world, so. There.”

He snapped his fingers again to set the candles he had accidentally knocked over back up and extinguish them, and let the hot wax disappear from his wooden floor. Then he rummaged around in the drawer of his desk for a moment before he grabbed the _Prophecies,_ rushed out of his bookshop, and hurried over to Mayfair. He needed to talk to Crowley. And it had sounded like Crowley needed to talk to him, too.

 

 

A few moments before these incidents in the bookshop, Crowley had been slightly panicking as he had spotted the car that was parking in front of the building he lived in. “Slightly”, in this case, is understated. His anxiety had been at a peak.

He had almost jumped to the ceiling as his phone had been ringing. For a second, he had pondered whether he should even pick it up, because he had feared it would just be another attempt from Hell to communicate with him over his impending 'collection'. But then he had grabbed it anyway and answered the call.

It had been Aziraphale. He had been _very_ discomposed, to say the least. He had babbled something about a book and Tadfield, and Crowley had tried to, at the same time, tell him about the demons coming to pick him up and drag him to Hell, but then the connection had suddenly been interrupted and Aziraphale was gone.

Now Crowley was all alone in his flat, and he could already hear the noises from downstairs. What should he _do?_

There was only one thing he could do.

He hurried over to the safe and started to get the emergency kit.

He was too slow.

The door to his flat flew open just as he was opening the inner door of the safe. Desperately, he grabbed the thermos flask. There was no time to put on the PVC gloves. His hands shook as he slammed the safe shut and tried, as casually as possible, to hold the flask away from his body.

Hastur and Ligur came into the lounge. Of course it had to be Hastur and Ligur... Two of the worst demons Below had to offer.

“Crawlee!” Hastur called and grinned unpleasantly. “Isn't it a nice coincidence we're meeting each other again like this!”

“Not really,” Crowley mumbled. The flask was trembling in his hand. He only had one chance of getting out of this, and it was incredibly risky. Maybe he should just dump the holy water over himself. It would be painful, but not as painful as the things Below was about to do to him.

“But now that you're here, do you want something to drink? I was just helping myself to a coffee.”

His voice sounded remarkably steady. He managed to control his hands enough to gingerly open the lid of the flask. Normally, the content would have scared him to death. But he had gotten the flask for a reason, and now this reason, sadly, had arrived.

Hastur and Ligur seemed a bit angry that Crowley wasn't writhing with fear on the floor in front of them. Ligur snarled and made his way towards him.

“No coffee! No nonsense! You'll be coming with us, you sorry little – AAAAAAAAAAAAAUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRRGHAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH!!!!”

Crowley had flung the open flask at him. It flew towards Ligur and spilled all of its content, soaking the demon in holy water. He peeled and flared and flickered. Oily brown smoke oozed from him, and he screamed and he screamed and he screamed. Then he crumpled, folded in on himself, and what was left lay glistening on the burnt and blackened circle of carpet, looking like a handful of mashed slugs.

Hastur stared at Ligur's remains. Unfortunately, the holy water hadn't reached him as well. Hastur was still fully functional. And now he was _extremely_ angry at the other demon in front of him.

“Holy water. You _bastard!”_ he growled. “You will _pay_ for this, Crowley! And before Hell makes you pay for it, _I_ will make you pay for it double!”

He roared and threw himself at Crowley.

Crowley had no weapon or other defences left.

There was nothing he could do to save himself from Hastur's wrath.

In the presumably last seconds of his soon to end life, Crowley watched the other demon come closer, claws outstretched, teeth clacking.

Crowley squeezed his eyes shut.

Then, suddenly, Hastur was screaming. He was howling, bawling, and as Crowley opened his eyes in wonder, he saw him wriggling and twitching in agony on the floor only a foot or two away from him.

A big, golden crucifix was sticking out of his back. From the way Hastur was crumbling before him, Crowley assumed it was holy.

He looked up and saw Aziraphale standing behind the dying demon.

“I assumed you might be in need of assistance,” the angel stated dryly.

“Yeah, uh... Thanks,” Crowley stammered, still surprised by the sudden back-up. “I guess that was great timing on your side. Thank you. Though I do wonder why you had a holy crucifix at hand and whether I should have been afraid of you more often than not.”

“Just a safety precaution,” Aziraphale claimed and watched with disgust as Hastur dissolved into a slimy puddle. “For instances like this one. Now, if there are no other demons we have to defeat first, I would very much like to drive to Tadfield with you. I will explain what is happening while we're on the way. Shall we?”

 

 

* * *

 

 

1 He would find himself in Madame Tracy's bedroom just a millisecond later. The poor woman had to deal with his confused and angered babbling for days until she could finally convince him he'd probably simply had a black-out. Shadwell didn't remember any of the incidents in the bookshop. But, for some reason, he never trusted the southern pansy again after that most confusing Saturday.

 


End file.
